


Performance

by sillyjester



Category: McDonaldland
Genre: Circus, Clowns, College, Falling In Love, Love, M/M, McDonald's, Roommates, Soulmates, Thief, Trauma, burglar, clown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sillyjester/pseuds/sillyjester
Summary: A young clown and his new roommate connect through childhood trauma and come up with a business idea.
Relationships: Ronald McDonald/Hamburglar
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Performance

September seventeenth found Ronald on the side of his bed, sobbing into his new gloves -- a not-so-lovingly-sent gift from his mother. They were stained black and red and a purer shade of white than the gloves themselves, and he became even more upset about ruining them. When the faucets of his eyes ran out, finally, he used the back of his left hand to wipe away the lingering tears, before removing both gloves and tossing them onto the floor. There they joined the note that accompanied the delivery, reading, "You may be far away from us at your fancy college, but remember, Ronald, you’ll always be our little clown." A knock on his door propelled him upward, sitting tall and proper on the mattress as he had been conditioned to do for so long.  
“Come in!” he strained.  
His handsome roommate entered. The two hadn’t formally met yet, and Ronald didn’t even know the fellow’s name; he only identified him as attractive, as a stereotypical poster boy.  
“Is something wrong?” said the stocky, ginger-haired, masked man. “I mean, I don’t mean to butt in where I have no business butting in, but I heard some heavy crying, and, shit, man, I know we haven’t officially met yet or anything, so I was wondering if there was something going on. That’s all. Sorry for rambling. And for possibly invading your privacy.” He shifted his weight between his two legs, rocked the ajar door back and forth ever-so-slightly, and chomped down on his lip. Ronald wiped his eyes again, this time with his bare hands, and some remaining face paint smeared onto them. He turned them, rather unnaturally, palm-up, so his roommate would not see their new markings.  
“Thanks for checking up on me,” Ronald managed to spit out. “But I’m fine. Just dealing with some personal matters. I’m Ronald, by the way. But you can call me Ronnie, or Ron, or Naldo, or whatever.”  
“Hamilton,” said the ginger, who had stopped rocking the door and took a step into the room at Ronald’s gesture. “I never thought of a nickname, but you can call me Ham, or Milton, or H-man, or whatever.” he said, mimicking Ronald’s delivery.  
The two shared a light laugh.  
“Hamilton. That’s a name I haven’t heard before. As a first name, I mean.” Ronald patted beside him and moved over, imploring his new acquaintance to sit beside him.  
“I could say the same. Or, something similar. I haven’t ever met anyone our age actually named Ronald. I haven’t seen it as a last name either, though.” Hamilton accepted his offer and sat down on the bed, stiffly.  
“You could say I’m a dying breed in more than one way, then,” said Ronald. If an imaginary rope attached to the ceiling kept his spine straight and tall, the rope was cut and Ronald slumped his shoulders.  
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hamilton, releasing himself from his perfect posture and matching Ronald’s shoulders. “I didn’t want to come across as a slob or lazy in front of you. I was actually wondering how in the world you were keeping your back straight for so long; I can hardly do that for a minute.”  
Ronald smiled, but behind it was a tinge of sadness, reminding him of his childhood, a world so fresh in his mind, yet one in which he had left, sharply, and could not revisit. He leaned back onto his mattress so that he was now facing the ceiling. The two were silent for a few moments.  
“I had professional training when I was a kid. Kinda like a constant etiquette class - no elbows on the table, saying ‘lavatory’ instead of ‘bathroom’ - but paired with the regimen of an acrobat. I’ve been sitting up straight for other people my entire life.” Ronald did not look directly at Hamilton; he was a bit embarrassed, frankly, that he had opened up so much to someone he hardly knew. Not that he had many people in his life he could confide in, anyway.  
“An acrobat, huh?” said Hamilton, still slouching upward, staring at Ronald’s black-and-white circus poster affixed to his door.  
Ronald, lifting his head up slightly, realized what his new acquaintance was looking at.  
“My family’s business,” he explained. “One of the only photos I have of the circus before it was incorporated into a larger amusement park.”  
“I see,” said Hamilton. “Were you a performer or something? Did you guys have a family act?” He turned to face Ronald and let out a sigh-laugh that was really just him exhaling air while smiling, but his face stiffened when he saw that Ronald was not returning his expression.  
“Actually, I was the only performer in the family. My parents are staunch business folk. They let my younger sister follow her dream of being an accountant, but I had to be the dancing clown. I was taught how to juggle before I was taught how to read.”  
“Oh, man, I’m so sorry,” said Hamilton. “Is that what your makeup is all about? I mean, it looks great, but they are some bright colors.”  
“Yeah,” said Ronald, tensing up because he had temporarily forgotten about the state of his face. “I put on the makeup today out of force of habit, and only realized I didn’t have to anymore when I was done. I was in the process of removing it, actually.”  
“I understand what you mean about having to undo certain conditioning from your upbringing. It sucks. Again, I’m sorry. No one should be forced to perform if they don’t choose that for themselves,” Hamilton responded, looking Ronald in the eyes. Their second-long connection felt raw, vulnerable; it was clear neither knew how to, or wanted to, break away. Finally, Ronald averted his gaze.  
“No, I’m sorry,” he replied, jumping out of the bed with great urgency. “I shouldn’t be dumping my entire background on you when we just met. It doesn’t feel right.” He wiped his sweaty palms onto his yellow slacks and held onto the doorknob. “Thank you for stopping by. You seem like a lovely housemate. I hope you’ll excuse my rudeness in asking to be alone right now.”  
Hamilton chuckled again, again out of nervousness, and moved toward the now-open door. On his way out, he turned to face Ronald -- the two were inches apart -- and said, “I’m always in the next room if you need me.”  
When he left, Ronald closed his door, but found himself unwilling to move from that doorway for a moment. As if the sensation of that almost-touching closeness would be lengthened, the memory preserved in greater detail, if he remained in the scene, his staging impeccable, and played over the lines of both parts again and again.  
Minutes later, on the other side of the wall, Hamilton was busy phoning his own confidant to give her a play-by-play of what was surely the most exciting encounter of his year.  
“B, listen. Listen. You’re not listening -- yes, he’s got the clown thing going on. No, it’s not some corny, over-the-top Bozo schtick. It’s tasteful. And he says he’s done with it, anyway.”  
“Hammy, I love you, I want you to find happiness. I really do. I just don’t think it’s smart to get involved with your roommate. Think about how awkward that can get,” replied Birdie, who was sat on her couch two thousand miles away, twisting the phone cord like a piece of loose hair. “And don’t forget that he doesn’t know about your background yet. Let’s face it -- that’s a turn-off for a lot of people.”  
Hamilton could sense that he had to work to convince Birdie that his heart was speaking the truth, and that he would be stupid not to listen. “If you were here, you would know exactly what I’m talking about,” explained the love-struck boy. “There was this instant spark, this moment of just… pure understanding between us. I think our souls are connected in some way. We were vulnerable together.”  
“You can’t know someone after five minutes. You just can’t. Give it an hour, at least. I mean, what if he’s totally messed up in the head from all that family trauma he apparently has? How’s that going to mix with your baggage?”  
Hamilton was about to reply when he heard a knock on his door. “I’ve got to go, B,” he said instead, hanging up before she could bid him farewell. “Come in,” he said to the door-knocker.  
He was stunned to see Ronald at the doorway, stripped of his makeup. All that remained was the faint trace of red velvet eye paint that had dribbled down to his cheeks, illuminating them like precious jewels. “Did I interrupt something?”  
“Not at all. Please, come in. You can sit at my desk. Or on my bed. Or you can continue standing. Whichever you prefer -- I really don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” said a flustered Hamilton.  
Ronald laughed and said that he felt like standing, on account of not knowing what to do with his extremities otherwise. “I’m sorry if this comes as an invasion of privacy, but I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying on the phone.” He used one of his legs, stubbornly-adjoined combat boot and all, to circle the shag carpet on the floor. A sort of nervous habit he’d picked up.  
Hamilton felt a thick, cold sheet of sweat coat his body; he felt the pulsation of his ears. Curiously, he then began to cough. As if words could not escape him and his body would punish him if he tried. Ronald raced to hand him a bottle of half-drunk water he found lying next to some of Hamilton’s plants. The two both sat down on the bed, Ronald patting his back while he desperately devoured the liquid.  
With a wipe of his face and a deep breath, Hamilton finally found that he was able to speak. “I am so sorry, Ronald. You must be totally weirded out. I should have known the walls were thin and that you’d be able to hear me. What a loser move.”  
“But that’s the thing, Hamilton,” began the clown. “I knew exactly what you were talking about. That spark. That moment of connection we shared earlier today. I felt it, too.”  
“You did?”  
“It’s like, for the first time in my life, I feel like someone’s seen past my makeup. Past my costume. Past everything artificial, or intentionally designed by my family. You saw me to my core -- I’m sure of it -- and I felt, for the first time, real warmth.”  
Hamilton shifted on his bed before deciding to jump up entirely. He massaged his temples with his hands, as though that would help him process the fantasy that was playing out before him.  
“Look, Ronald, I think we’re both just out of our minds. I mean, we have to be, right?” he said.  
“Why? Why shouldn’t we act on what we feel?”  
“Shit, I don’t know, man. I mean, you don’t even know anything about me. That stuff you said about your family being unsupportive, I relate to that. Only my family doesn’t run a legitimate business.” Hamilton began to pace back and forth from wall-to-wall. “I mean, you may come from a circus, but I come from a line of criminals. Thievery is in my blood.”  
Ronald nodded and said nothing for a long while. Hamilton waited with bated breath for his response. And it almost seemed like he had none. Then, when Hamilton was close to screaming to alleviate the stillness of the air, Ronald stood up. He grabbed Hamilton by the shoulders -- and could now see that the boy was tearing up himself -- and embraced him.  
“I don’t care about what your family may or may not have passed down to you. What I care about is you. And the possibility of us.”  
With the hands behind Ronald’s back, Hamilton wiped his eyes, and replied, “Not only am I sure we’re meant to be together, but I also think -- and this may sound insane -- that we should start a franchise.”  
“A franchise? Like a fast-food chain of sorts? Specializing in cheap meals targeted toward young and/or working families?” asked Ronald, still holding his roommate tightly.  
“You read my mind,” he said.  
The fresh-faced soon-to-be-entrepreneurs were, in the long moments of their first embrace, deeply at peace with the way of the world. All of the abuse they had suffered throughout their formative years was at once shared between them until it dissipated into the air entirely. The endless hours of convincing themselves that they were ready for college, ready to emancipate themselves, ready for life’s next big adventure, had been leading up to this particular city, this exact dumpy apartment, these precise coordinates. There was no other way for either of them -- just the way they had known of grief, strive, projection, and fear. And though they knew their arrangement would likely make their third roommate, a fellow named Daniel studying computer science, a bit uncomfortable, they had a gut feeling that he would understand the power of love. And for as long as they hugged each other, wiping away each other’s tears, they knew that they would never be alone again.


End file.
